


Extinguish My Eyes, I’ll Go On Seeing You

by xjanka



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: ...It's porn..., Age Difference, Angst, Bloodplay, Gunplay, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Mind Games, Ocelot is an asshole, and write fanfics so I can read them, because there are only 5 and it's very depressing, fic might be weird but the ship is perfect, please love the ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 15:17:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7057807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xjanka/pseuds/xjanka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1994: Liquid is freed from captivity, and it doesn't take long until an old acquaintance shows up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Extinguish My Eyes, I’ll Go On Seeing You

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr inspired Ocelot/Liquid porn.
> 
> This fic was born out of pain and suffering! *curls up into a ball peacefully*
> 
> Beta: remiges *.*

 

— **i** —

 

Someone is in Liquid's room, watching him. It's the creaking and the hint of a shadow that gives him away, too obvious to ignore. It's about 2 o'clock, maybe later, and the only other movement in the room is Liquid's hand bringing a cigarette to his lips from time to time.

He's wide awake.

Coming home after being a prisoner of war still feels surreal. It's like living behind mirrored glass, blocked from their view but too aware of everything: the faces too virulent to look at, voices a deluge. Settled inside him is a surge of exhaustion that he sometimes catches a glimpse of in the paleness of his reflection.

Outside, the rain is incessant, a raging storm, and the city dissolves behind the window, flaring into pieces of swirling sky and silhouettes. The flat itself is a favor. Between shaking hands and feigned kindness they've accommodated him here. _You'll hear from us._ Ten men near the building, just in case.

Liquid is sitting on the edge of his bed, cigarette between his fingers, the smoke swirling over him and into the room. A roll of thunder drowns out the rain for a moment, and he looks up. Seconds pass. Liquid flicks the ashes to the floor and stands to pull back the curtains. He takes a drag, stubs out the cigarette.

From the corner of his eye he sees the movement again and turns his head to find the muzzle of a gun coming to rest against his temple. Liquid's not sure if he's joking. After all, he doesn't remember Ocelot as being particularly funny. Maybe he likes the cliché.

Liquid says, "What do you want? They send you to convince me?"

The gun disappears. Liquid hears the clicking noise—one, two flicks of the wrist as the cylinder is opened—then Ocelot sets it onto the mattress. Ocelot takes a step back and raises his hands. "No gun," he says. "We can talk."

"Talk."

The gun stares at him, and somehow it's hard to look away. Liquid picks it up, considers killing Ocelot and doesn't. When he tears his eyes away, he finds Ocelot surveying him quietly.

"You've grown up," he says. "It's been a while."

"I assumed you'd be dead by now."

Ocelot doesn't take the bait, just examines him thoughtfully. "What do they call you these days? 'Liquid Snake'?"

Apparently he already knows, so Liquid chooses to ignore the question. It's his name now. A name he's earned. Liquid's eyes wander lower, before flicking back to Ocelot's face. "You have another gun," he says. "Don't trust me?"

"They want your cooperation. The only reason you've been given time is because they know your story. To be more precise—"

"They _want_ ," Liquid says, "by holding a knife at my throat?"

"That's how it works, isn't it? You should have seen the chaos when they feared those people would use their own weapon against them." Ocelot gestures vaguely.

"You're not here to play the messenger. What are you up to?" He watches as Ocelot reaches for the pack of cigarettes on the bed and fumbles with the lighter. The pale wooden floor is singed from the ashes of the cigarette Liquid had smoked earlier.

After five seconds, there's a sharp hissing noise.

Ocelot inhales, blows the smoke into Liquid's face. "Those marks," he says, "are torture marks."

There's amusement hidden behind his mask of politeness, and when Liquid realizes, the flicker of something dark in Ocelot's eyes becomes so obvious it makes his skin tingle. But there's something else he doesn't recognize at first. An undercurrent of sorrow, maybe, as if Ocelot likes the picture but can't help finding mistakes the longer he looks at it.

Another pull. Liquid watches him flick the embers to the floor.

"You were gone for quite a while," Ocelot says. "Of course, I heard a few things. Well, nothing too specific. But I figure it was a hard time."

"I'm flattered by your concern, old man."

"Oh, it isn't concern. More like curiosity." Looking right at him, he says, "You were dreaming."

"You watched me?"

"A bit longer than you know, actually. I assumed you'd be more honest when you were asleep."

Liquid keeps his face blank. "I'm glad I was entertaining."

"You are." A glow at the end of his cigarette. "Four years, that's a long time. I've broken men in less than four minutes." Ocelot smiles. There's something calculating in his eyes, something that reminds Liquid of a big cat sizing up its prey, waiting for the right moment to close in for the kill. "Your brother," Ocelot says. "I've heard of him. A great soldier as far as I know. He was also there in Iraq, and now they want him at FOXHOUND." Ocelot pauses, long enough for Liquid to assume he's finished and turn away. He expects him to leave. He expects him to understand he's been dismissed, because there are quite a few things Liquid has to do, and Ocelot had better not piss him off any more.

Ocelot doesn't leave. Instead he draws closer, leans in to whisper into Liquid's ear, "His skills are quite impressive, they say."

It's a short burn when he stubs out his cigarette on the back of Liquid's hand.

 

 

— **ii** —

 

The next day passes in a string of tasks and interruptions, and Ocelot is back before the afternoon is over. He lets himself in, and it's getting dark by the time Liquid finishes going through the first stack of papers. It's what he does most of the time, finding out what's happened in the world over the past years. Somehow, the more he learns, the calmer he gets.

By nightfall, Liquid finishes his work.

He yanks open the dresser, grabs some clothes, and rushes into the bathroom.

When he returns, hair wet and tousled, Ocelot hasn't died from a heart attack, but in the dim light the passing years become more obvious. Their eyes meet. For a disconcerting moment Ocelot looks startled, then it's gone. Liquid bites back the cold laugh forming in his throat like an itch.

"You admire him so much." The distaste in Liquid's voice betrays him, but he doesn't get his reaction right away.

"He's an impressive person," Ocelot finally says. "Haven't seen anybody who didn't fall for him one way or another. But they never got to know him like I did. You see, your father is one of those people who can be by your side through a _war_ , and yet you know close to nothing about them." He seems amused. "Did they ever tell you how he lost his eye? I figured, maybe they would."

"You're quite talkative for someone with nothing to say."

"That's the problem with old people, isn't it?" He picks up the towel Liquid had tossed aside. "Then again, with age comes wisdom. We'd make a good team."

There's silence between them but neither cares enough to chase it away. Liquid is feeling calm all of a sudden, calm and cruel and oddly careless. "You're right," he finally says, "I did hear about it. There was another man if I recall correctly. Later." He smiles at Ocelot, satisfied when a hint of something different flashes over his face. "What was his name again?"

 

 

— **iii** —

 

They've fucked before.

They've fucked like… Well, Liquid doesn't know how many times _exactly_ , but it doesn't matter anyway. The first time, he was only fifteen, and completely inexperienced. He remembers the way Ocelot used to look at him like he was seeing someone else, a reflection of a man who wasn't there anymore. And of course he's not _stupid_. He knows it's not him Ocelot wants, but with Ocelot's weight pressing him down and Liquid's body shuddering against him, it barely makes a difference. There are other moments though, moments when Ocelot's hand is in his hair, thumb caressing his cheek, and it makes something twist inside Liquid, but he doesn't know why.

Whatever Ocelot is up to he refuses to talk outright, and Liquid feels himself growing angrier by the minute. It's like Ocelot is testing him. A game to see who will give in first, and Liquid sure as hell won't let him have the satisfaction.

An hour later, he's had enough.

"What do you want?" he snarls. "Stop fucking wasting my time."

Ocelot tilts his head. "You must think little of me if you assume that's my plan."

" _You—_ " Liquid breaks off, voice laced with anger.

Ocelot says, "Come here."

He does, he's not sure why. When Ocelot reaches out for him, there's a strange sensation of being dragged under that Liquid can't shake off. He straddles him, hands clasping Ocelot's waist, and the rage is gone all of a sudden. It's like a calm has settled inside him, and with Ocelot willingly underneath him, Liquid feels a tinge of power creeping through his body. Ocelot is just a foolish old man, blind to his delusions, caught in a dream he won't wake up from. Liquid kisses him, hands on his shoulders, breath against his mouth, teeth grazing his bottom lip before breaking away.

"Careful," Ocelot mutters.

Liquid laughs, derisive. "I'm not afraid of you. Stop playing games."

"I thought that's what you wanted?"

Liquid doesn't see it coming, any of it. He doesn't see his own _reaction_ coming, the fear that rushes through his body. In a fraction of a heartbeat, Ocelot has him on his back, grip vise-like around his wrists.

Liquid's first instinct is to fight, the second, overpowering the first almost instantly, leaves him completely paralyzed. When Ocelot leans in to kiss his throat, he tenses up, body taut and aching from the pressure of his racing heart. Liquid tries to twist himself free from Ocelot's grip and fails. The grasp around his wrists hurts, even more so when Ocelot presses him deeper into the mattress.

Then it's over.

His heart rate slows down. The tension drains, and Liquid lets out a shuddering breath against Ocelot's lips.

"I hate him," Liquid says, turning his head to evade Ocelot's mouth.

Ocelot stares him down, eyes hard and almost impossible to read. "Who? Your brother? Your father? You'd like to see me hurt him?" he murmurs.

Liquid doesn't answer, doesn't _have_ to. The second the words cut through, Liquid wriggles free, breathless, angry. He struggles to his feet and grabs his shirt. Behind him, Ocelot runs his fingers through his hair and gives Liquid a last thoughtful look before turning away to leave the room.

 

 

— **iv** —

 

He's dreaming in fragments, in blurred and fleeting pictures. Behind his eyes are corridors and iron bars cold beneath his fingers. A distant stifled cry and blood between his teeth. Coming home from captivity feels surreal still. People who know him stare until his skin starts itching. No mirrored glass this time, they whisper.

And then, after someone bundles him out of the air-plane and into a car, there's his _name_ on the tongue of a low-ranked soldier. Liquid stops. Turns when he hears them talking.

"I know him," says one of the men, only steps away. "In Outer Heaven—"

Liquid kills him without thinking.

He kills another one, too, before they rush him, shouted instructions echoing across the airfield. In his dreams he sees them closing in, guns pointed right at him, and then another man arrives and calls them off. The thing inside his chest laughs spitefully.

"Liquid Snake," says the man. "Is that right?"

His vision is blurry. The man asks him a second time, and he chokes out the word he hasn't used in years. "Yes."

The man offers him a smile. _Pleased_ , is what crosses Liquid's mind. "I'm glad," the man says, "we got you back. Let's have a little chat, shall we?"

 

 

— **v** —

 

Liquid's eyes snap open. Above him, stripes of light dart across the ceiling before melting once more into the darkness. He inhales too fast, too much oxygen at once. His heart is pounding. Thunder tears the night apart.

The voice says, "Not the best dream, was it?"

It's still dark outside, the night no more than a streak of sky winking through the gap between the curtains. It's raining, the sound mimicking the blaze of gunfire, and if Liquid blocks out the here and now, it feels like being at war again. Like lying in a tent, surrounded by screaming and darkness and the staggering footsteps of men at the point of death. Like pushing aside the flap to find his fallen comrades lying in the mud, facedown.

It's no use thinking about it.

Looking for his shirt, Liquid pushes himself up and finds it at the foot of his bed. From the corner of his eye Liquid can see a shadow moving. If there's anything he can't take yet, it's Ocelot's fucking voice, but of course what Liquid wants means next close to nothing compared to Ocelot's duties.

"I have a message," Ocelot says behind him, smooth. Liquid goes through the rumpled sheets and finds the knife he's been missing. Ocelot says, "They gave you an ultimatum. One week—if there's no response by that time, they'll send someone after you."

"Is that so?"

Ocelot doesn't answer, just glances at him with the observing look Liquid is familiar with by now. "Don't put that back on," he says, and Liquid pulls the shirt over his head without a second thought.

"What are they waiting for, anyway?" he asks. "Why not go after my dear brother instead?"

"Hm. Don't be ridiculous." Another pause. Liquid watches Ocelot pull out his gun and twirl it absentmindedly. "This is a good one," he says. "Although I'll admit it's kind of old-fashioned with all these automatic firearms around. You'd think I was a nostalgic old man. But it hurts more when you use a revolver."

"So that's why they say you get off on torture."

He laughs. "You know," Ocelot says, beckoning him over with the gun, "I'm glad they agreed to send me instead of someone else." The way the gun touches Liquid's cheek feels almost gentle. "Open," Ocelot demands, and driven by an odd sensation of familiarity, Liquid obeys.

It's strange at first.

The pressure Ocelot puts on his jaw isn't painful, but it's enough to prevent him from pulling his head back. He feels Ocelot's gaze linger on his face as the cold metal warms up beneath his tongue. He closes his lips, and Ocelot pulls back to give him more freedom. "Suck," he says. It's an instruction. His voice is hoarse, and he's clutching the revolver so tightly his knuckles are white.

Ocelot _is_ watching him, studying his face as Liquid swirls his tongue around the muzzle, every movement absorbed by Ocelot's eyes. Liquid knows Ocelot is hard without looking, and he can feel his own erection pressing against his trousers. Liquid wonders if Ocelot's done this before. Maybe it's one of the things he does for torture, to inflict more pain on people when there's little resistance left. Liquid's teeth scrape over the metal, then, a hand on the back of his head fisting his hair. It's obvious what's on Ocelot's mind, and Liquid feels powerful and shameless under his attention.

He wants to laugh but doesn't. Saliva is running down his chin and Liquid brings up a hand to wipe it off.

The gun stops moving. Liquid blinks away the haze and meets Ocelot's gaze in confusion. Liquid opens his mouth, but before he can attempt to say something, the gun is forced deeper. He gags, tries to pull back and can't. The grip in his hair tightens until the barrel hits the back of his throat, and he struggles, panic racing through his veins.

As soon as Ocelot's grip loosens, he breaks free, gasping for air.

Through gritted teeth, he snarls, "You wretched bastard."

"I thought you could take it," Ocelot says. "Although, I'll admit, it was an interesting sight. You've been created to endure pain—it shouldn't throw you off track." He puts aside the gun and starts to pull off his gloves. For all his casualness, Liquid knows he's not half as calm as he pretends to be. The bulge in his trousers, treacherous and unambiguous, betrays him. Liquid wonders if this is something Ocelot had wanted to do to his father, but they both know he never stood a chance.

"Just like my goddamn brother would never waste his time on you," he mutters under his breath but doesn't get an answer straightaway. The gloves wind up on the floor.

This time, when Ocelot reaches for him Liquid doesn't resist. This time, he reaches for the collar of Ocelot's shirt and wrenches it open. Liquid allows Ocelot to undress him, allows him to wedge a hand down his waistband. For a minute or so neither of them says a word, and it's just skin and tongues and Ocelot's uneven breath in his ears. Liquid is on his lap the second Ocelot pulls back, and Ocelot's hands trail down his spine, lower, until they reach his ass and thighs.

Ocelot breathes out against the rim of Liquid's ear. "You're so obsessed with him."

"Of course I am."

"You'd like to kill him? After all, he's what you should have been." The fingers slip between his cheeks and dig into him, barely enough to feel. A moment later they're gone, Ocelot gripping his upper arm instead.

The sharp pain of a backhand across his face makes the room spin. Liquid closes his eyes, tongue darting out to feel his lip, not swollen yet, and then… then Ocelot is on him, pulling him into an invasive kiss. When Liquid breaks away, he's breathless. Blood-smeared.

_He's fucking dead._

The anger's there, and part of Liquid wants to grab his knife and slice Ocelot's throat open. And then Ocelot's restraining hand is gone, and a sudden rush of adrenalin has Liquid on his feet, gripping the knife on his mattress.

Ocelot's faster. He wrenches the knife from Liquid's hand, wrestles him down and Liquid _raises his hand_ —

He's on his back, soaked in sweat and panting. His eyelids flutter as Ocelot holds him down with his bodyweight. Fingers press into him, one, then a second, and Liquid quivers at the unpleasant burning sensation. Ocelot kisses him on the mouth. Kisses him again with fervent hunger, and Liquid moans before turning it into a wet kiss that leaves him breathless.

"Cut me open," he says, and cold amusement flashes through Ocelot's eyes.

"You want me to?" He doesn't wait for an answer, just leans forward to slowly pick up the knife.

Despite being the one to request it, Liquid stiffens at the sight.

He feels his skin crawl under the cold blade. The first cut isn't more than a slice, the blade barely cutting his skin.

The second one goes deeper, and Liquid digs his fingers into the sheets at the sensation.

Ocelot's smile keeps hovering above him. "Already enough?" he asks and Liquid wants to spit "fuck you" right in his face.

There's no time to recover. No time to stop his body from tingling where the blood dries. Soon enough he's drenched in sweat, his hair damp in his face. He feels Ocelot's tongue on his thigh, Ocelot's knuckles still resting inside his ass. Liquid shudders. He's bleeding and dizzy, his cock so hard it hurts. The fingers inside him push deeper while Ocelot's other hand takes a firm hold of his leg, teeth and tongue drawing more blood from his inner thigh.

He's feverish, probably squirming underneath Ocelot like a slut. Then Ocelot kisses him again, briefly this time, twisting his fingers inside Liquid to make him gasp. He brings his other hand to his mouth, slowly licks off the blood.

"Your brother," Ocelot had said and, the echo leaves Liquid with a sudden sting in his chest. _Of course his brother_. His flawless twin—raised to shine while Liquid waits in the shadows.

Only when Ocelot says "You should prove them wrong, then," sinking his fingers to the hilt, does Liquid realize he's spoken out loud. They stare at each other. Again, there's something in Ocelot's face he can't stand to look at.

Quietly, he says, "You thought about it, didn't you?"

"Thought… about what exactly?"

"Cutting out my eye." He tilts his head, seeks Ocelot through his dazed vision.

"I did," Ocelot finally says.

It's triumph and rage all at once. The realization that it has to be possible to twist Ocelot around his finger till he breaks. Liquid reaches out for him, nails brushing his cheek. "You must feel so sorry for yourself."

"You don't want to have that kind of conversation."

Liquid laughs. "Why not? Afraid I might find out too much? You know, I might be their biggest failure but he never wanted _you_ either."

Ocelot doesn't answer. "Turn around," he says instead, and Liquid tastes copper.

Ocelot is angry, this time Liquid is sure of it. It's a rare emotion, something he hasn't seen often. Ocelot is sweet most of the time, good at pretending, better at deceiving. Whenever he talks, it's elaborate and only sometimes can Liquid see something feral beneath the surface.

They've done this before. It's a memory that lingers all too vividly.

Liquid does as he's been told, grimacing at the stinging pain that flashes through his leg as he gets on his hands and knees. Behind him, Ocelot fumbles with his belt and pulls out his cock, which presses hot and wet against the back of Liquid's thigh.

But Ocelot doesn't fuck him, not right away.

Instead something cold touches his skin, and it doesn't take Liquid long to realize what Ocelot's up to.

"No," he says.

"You sure?" Ocelot rubs the barrel against his balls in a thoughtful manner.

Reluctantly, Liquid lets him, and the gun nudges one last time before all that's left is the throbbing heat between his legs.

Ocelot takes his time. The barrel is thinner than a cock, but it's long and he feels Ocelot's fingers slip in with it to force him open. He fucks Liquid slowly, mouth so close to his leg that Liquid can feel the warmth of his breath, thigh wet with blood or spit or something else.

The steady rhythm persists for a while. Whatever noises Liquid makes are blocked from his awareness, his concentration shattered. Then Ocelot's breath is gone. Seconds later a hand wraps around him, and Liquid is so worked up that the sensation alone makes him twitch in Ocelot's grip, shifting uncomfortably on his hands.

Ocelot jerks him off slowly, bringing his thumb over the head and causing streaks of precum to run down his fist.

"When I said we'd make a good team, I wasn't joking, Eli."

Hearing that name makes Liquid grit his teeth. "Shut up," he says, words merging with a sharp hiss of pain.

"Oh? It's your name, after all."

Before Liquid can argue, Ocelot's other hand tightens around the gun, and the angle makes Liquid choke on his breath.

"You know, you're not so different," Ocelot says. "You and this boy you want to erase so badly."

"Fuck you."

"I can help you change." Ocelot's fingers tug at Liquid's foreskin, stroke him in lazy circles. Then another jolt, and Liquid's mouth falls open, his body shivering with arousal. "Surpass your brother." Ocelot bites his shoulder, and Liquid clenches his fist. "I could work for you."

"Is that a threat?" His cock feels impossibly hard in Ocelot's fist.

"An offer," says Ocelot, mouth so close to his ear that Liquid can feel each word ghosting over his skin, "you should take into consideration." At this Ocelot pulls out the gun, pushing fingers in again. There are two things Liquid is hyperaware of: his dick between his legs, and the hand that's jerking him off, relentless and wet and slick with precum.

It takes two seconds, three maybe, until he feels his whole body go stiff, toes curling painfully. When he comes, it's like a blackout, the world shattering in front of his eyes.

The hand doesn't stop, just jerks him through while his body keeps convulsing, semen spilling over Ocelot's fingers and the mattress. Even after he's empty and spent, the movements don't stop until Liquid tries to wriggle free from the painful grip.

He collapses, breathless, and Ocelot turns him onto his back. Ocelot kisses him. For the first time—and maybe it's the drowsiness deluding him—it feels almost gentle. "I'm not my father," Liquid says when Ocelot leans back.

And Ocelot, the liar, answers, "Yes. Yes, I know."

 

 

— **vi** —

 

It takes him a while to gather himself, to recover from the exhaustion and the feeling of being nothing but hands and legs and reverberating breath. When Liquid pushes himself up his body feels clumsy, yet at least the restlessness has shrunk to something barely noticeable. There are other things he notices: the wetness running down his thighs, Ocelot's eyes trailing over his back and lower, and drunken laughter hidden behind layers of rain.

Liquid picks up his shirt and eyes it blankly before snapping back to reality. The offer, he knows, is still on the table. But in the grey of the dawn Liquid is not sure whether he can read the fine print he knows has to be somewhere between the lines. He's feeling terribly sore. Even more, he feels sticky.

"So," he says, stretching the word. "Why aren't you gone already?"

Ocelot laughs. "We're not finished yet."

_Well, of course they're not._

"The key to success," Ocelot says, "is patience." They both know Liquid has very little of it.

"I see you've been very successful," he retorts.

"Play along for a while. The better you know the rules, the easier it is to bend them. As for your brother…" Ocelot smiles. "Incidentally, I know one or two things about the people he surrounds himself with. You might find it interesting."

"You think so? What's in this for you?"

"Ah, we're chasing after the same things, aren't we?" Ocelot seems relaxed, confident that Liquid won't turn down his offer. Then Liquid grabs the gun next to him, the light reflecting pale blue off its surface.

Maybe he won't.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> All I care about in life is this ship. And don't worry, they will be very happy and have many children! :)
> 
> Inspiration:
> 
> \- http://uuuhshiny.tumblr.com/post/100159336242
> 
> \- http://sinnamonbunnie.tumblr.com/post/133681191140
> 
> \- And probably every single Ocelot/Liquid fic because I have zero clue about MGS. *hides*


End file.
